


Reunion

by orphan_account



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Deception, F/M, Plot What Plot, Telekinesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're feared and hated, it's hard to get a date, unless you're someone like Genghis Khan and can order it like pizza. Sylar just wants to get laid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt by Dr Spleenmeister: "Her moan echoes in the back of his throat and he likes that sound, wants to hear more like it. He likes what he can do to her because it reminds him of the man she thinks he is."

He can't believe he's encountered one person on Earth who doesn't know about Sylar.

They went to high school together, before everything went to shit and he got stuck in the shop. She wasn't a cheerleader - thank God - nor a popular girl like Elle Bishop, although she's still a blonde. What is it with him and blonde girls? Although there was Maya...But he'd better think normal thoughts, as he's on his way back to his old place to meet his memories. For once, he isn't trying to acquire power or manipulate others to get his way.

He just wants to get laid.

When you're feared and hated, it's hard to get a date, unless you're someone like Genghis Khan and can order it like pizza. Two days ago he saw her peering in the window of the old shop, shuttered and dark for a long time now, and on recognizing her he went up and touched her shoulder.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh!" She whirled to face him, then broke out in a smile. "Gabriel! It is you, isn't it? Gabriel Gray?"

"Yeah," he said, feigning puzzlement. "Shelly? From English Lit?"

"Yes," she said, pleased. "Senior year. You hated Byron."

"Still do," he said and smiled back. His usual aversion to idle chit chat gives way to curiosity and he says, "What are you doing down here?"

"I'm on break," she said. "Studying environmental science in Nova Scotia, believe it or not. I thought I'd look up some old friends and I happened to be passing the shop. I thought you had taken over."

"I did," he told her. "We're remodeling." He's not about to tell her about the life-changing events that have happened in that shop in the last four years. He asked her out for coffee, they talked for hours, and she never got around to visiting her friends that day. He invited her to his apartment for dinner and she accepted readily.

So here he is, bringing home some groceries to a place that isn't really home any more but is the only facsimile of one he has. He's been there for a week, laying low and considering his next move; that day was the first time he'd ventured out in days.

After he puts dinner in the oven he showers and wanders around the place, naked, picking up artifacts from his past and wondering what they mean now. The man he'd been back then was shy to the point that, even when alone, he was uncomfortable without any clothing. He's seen so many bodies now, alive and dead, that his own means nothing to him any more. After all, he's been dead a couple of times himself.

However, he doesn't want to shock her - just yet - so he dresses in his grey flannels and a button-down shirt, contemplates putting on a tie and decides against it. He's found that a hint of undershirt and chest hair catches the feminine eye like catnip; exactly the effect he wants.

She's only five minutes late and brings a bottle of wine, and when he opens the door her eye sweeps over his form and she blushes. He hopes that bodes well for his plan and takes the bottle, kisses her cheek, shows her in and around.

"It's nothing fancy," he says. "It's big, but really only one and a half rooms - I mean, the bed is kind of in the living room, I guess." It's a little difficult, trying to appear bashful, but he manages it. Just remember Gabriel, he thinks to himself and is flicked with a twinge of sadness, which he commits to the depths of his psyche where it belongs.

They eat at the tiny table, chicken cacciatore and wine, and she starts to giggle when they talk about their former classmates and what's become of them.

"I never heard a thing about you, though," she says, leaning her chin on her hand. "Nothing exciting ever happen to you?"

"No," he says, clearing the table and not looking at her. "Nothing much. I thought about you a lot, well, from time to time."

"Me? Really?" She sounds almost wistful.

"Well, yeah, I had such a crush on you, didn't you know?"

"No," she says. "You were so quiet, I never knew what was going on in your head. So cute, but so shy. It was kind of - attractive."

He smiles, genuinely amused. "Wish I'd known then you felt that way. I might have gotten up the nerve to ask you out."

"You have now," she says. "And you made me dinner. And you're still attractive, Gabriel."

"Not cute any more?" he teases.

She looks him up and down again as he stands leaning on the kitchen counter, and she says. "Definitely not cute." He makes a sad face and she smiles and says, "But very hot."

He gives her a "who, me?" look. She stands and comes over to stand in front of him, and he looks down at her like he doesn't know what she's talking about.

"I've always wanted to do this," she murmurs, takes his face in her hands, draws him down to kiss him, softly and sweetly. Damn. How long has it been since anyone's kissed him like that? He controls his desire to ravish her mouth and responds in kind.

When her lips part from his she says, a little breathlessly, "Do you have a girlfriend, Gabriel?"

He shakes his head. "You? I mean," he stammers while she giggles, "you know what I mean."

"No, I'm a free woman," she tells him. "So it's okay with you, if I kiss you or anything?"

"Anything," he murmurs and bends to kiss her some more; her arms go around his neck and he practically lifts her off her feet as they deepen the kiss. This time when they come up for air he picks her up and goes over to sit on the couch with her on his lap, and she doesn't object but goes for his mouth again as he settles her in his arms.

He's forgotten how it feels, kissing and touching without having to force or demand it, and it goes to his head faster than wine; it's suddenly not so hard to act like a near-virgin. Twas beauty killed the beast, he thinks; her hand has slipped under his collar, the other into his hair, her breasts pressing against him as if introducing themselves. He hasn't lost control of the situation - not yet - but maybe some part of him wants to...

"Shelly," he mumbles into her neck. He slides his hands down to cup her buttocks and she sighs and shifts beautifully in his lap and suddenly the grey flannels are way too tight.

"Gabriel," she breathes in his ear. "For so long I wanted you to kiss me...hold me..."

"Yes," he nods.

"Touch me..."

"Yes..."

"Please, Gabriel..."

Too easy, he thinks, his mind snapping back into what he's here for, and he suppresses a smirk, instead burying his face against her and moaning, "Yes..."

"Do I have to say it?" She pulls back to look at him and he knows exactly what she sees: dilated chocolate eyes, velvety hair, lips wet and curved, open as if in shock. Once upon a time he didn't have to conjure this face; it was a natural reaction. But hardly anything shocks him any more.

"Shelly - do you mean - do you want me to make love to you?"

For answer she dives on his mouth again and squirms as much of her body as she can against him. His arms tighten around her and he lies back on the couch holding her on top of him. He wants this to last, wants to make her scream and beg, wants her to return the favor. The last time a woman lay on him like this - it was Elle, during the eclipse - but he won't think about that now, now that she's dead. He raises his head and launches a counterattack with his tongue, taking her mouth with bruising force and hearing her moan.

 

Her moan echoes in the back of his throat and he likes that sound, wants to hear more like it. He likes what he can do to her because it reminds him of the man she thinks he is.

Gabriel Gray, shy, inexperienced Gabriel, who couldn't possibly be harboring such sexual energy, a sleeping giant. And it's all because of her irresistible charms, unfulfilled lust, memories, that he has succumbed to her at last. That's what he wants her to believe, so that he can pretend it's true as well. Not a serial killer, not a cold-blooded rapist of others' minds, not a devil incarnate, but a man with desires and the ability to give pleasure as well as pain.

She moans again and fumbles with the buttons on his shirt. He takes hold of it, still kissing her, and yanks it open, mindless of flying buttons. She pulls his undershirt up to run her hands over his skin and he makes a low needy sound and arches his back into her touch. His hands come up to cradle her face and he feels her breath hot in his throat as they plunder each other's mouths. He bends one knee, pressing it between her legs and feeling the heat there; she grinds against him and breaks the kiss, gasping.

"Come on," he whispers and rises from the couch, lifting her again and taking the few steps to the bed, laying her down and getting busy with her clothing. She tries to pull him down, to prolong the process, but he shakes his head and goes on stripping her, saying, "No, no, I want to see you, all of you, your beautiful body..."

And once again - he's seen beautiful bodies, fucked them, murdered them, toyed with them - but this time he just wants release, to satisfy a hunger different from the hunger for powers he's been living with. Her body is smooth and pale and curved and as he bends to kiss her belly she pushes at his shoulders and says, "Now you."

He obliges, standing to pull off his clothes, watching her greedy eyes and wet lips. When he pushes down his briefs she sighs deeply and her fingers twitch.

"Not so shy now, are you?" she smiles and he stretches out beside her, laying his skin against hers, soft and clean and warm. He almost feels as though he's never touched a woman before. He spreads one large hand to slide it slowly over her form, like petting a cat, finding all her curves and dips, feeling her skin quiver and tighten under his touch. His palm brushes over a nipple and she shudders and thrusts against it; he curls his hand around the softness and lowers his mouth to her paradoxically hard nipple.

She whimpers and sinks her fingers into his shoulders as he bends over her, slipping his leg between hers once more, now skin to skin, pressing into her wet center. Her hips rock into him, his hard flesh pulsing between them, and suddenly she's pushing on him, slipping downward as they lie facing each other, her hands moving quickly to grip his ass, anchoring herself to lower her head, nuzzling the base of his sex, her tongue hot and insistent. His fingers twitch with the urge to push her mouth where he wants it, stuff his aching cock into her throat. With a great effort he resists, reaching up to grip the bedframe, and says in a strangled voice, "Shelly - please - not yet - "

She leaves off licking him just as she's about to reach his tip and looks up at him, a wicked little smile on her lips. "Haven't you ever had it that way, Gabriel?" she whispers.

"Yes - no - I don't - " he gasps, trying to conceal another smirk. Of course he has, many times, but it wouldn't do for sweet Gabriel to admit that, would it? He wants her to think she's in charge, right up until the moment he turns the tables on her. "Please," he whimpers. "I want to hold you when we - " He gulps and pulls her up against his chest, on top of him, guiding her hips directly over his erection and pushing up into her as she gasps and shifts to spread herself wider.

"God, Gabriel," she pants. "You're fucking huge. I might have known. This is what you've been hiding in those pants all these years..."

"Saving it up for you," he grins and thrusts up to show her. He considers whether to let her come, decides he wants her as wet and relaxed as possible, flicks a finger surreptitiously toward the spot where their bodies are joined. She convulses around him as he bucks up into her, lifting his hips off the bed to impale her over and over, and she keens and starts to topple forward and he grabs her shoulders and orders, "Look at me."

Her eyes open fully, fixed on his, and the sight of her unguarded orgasmic face shoots him over the edge and he howls and arches up, bearing her entire weight on his hips and firing his hot seed deep into her body. Now she does collapse on his chest and he wraps his arms around her, and for one sweet, euphoric, elusive moment, he is just a man, a lonely, grateful, sated man.

He gives himself a few minutes as the illusion fades, then rolls over on top of her in the narrow bed and kisses her neck. She's whispering his name and stroking his hair and he pulls away, leaning up on his hands to loom over her, and he gets on his knees, straddling her waist and watching her expression turn from satisfied to confused, and finally, to apprehensive.

"Gabriel," she says and tries to move, but his invisible grip pins her body and her expression begins to show fear. "Gabriel, what's happening?"

He just smiles; he enjoys watching their faces as realization dawns, that he is the one controlling their bodies, and that his intentions are not as benign as previously assumed. She starts to pant, color draining from her face in panic, and her voice turns rough as she pleads, "Gabriel, stop it, whatever it is, let me go..."

Another flick of his fingers, and she's turned over on her belly, hips in the air, face ground sideways into the sheet, and as he moves to press his recovering cock between her buttocks he leans over and hisses in her ear:

"My name is Sylar."

**Author's Note:**

> All characters and settings are the property of their respective copyright holders. As far as the author is aware, this work is not based on, adapted, copied, or derived from any other work in any medium.


End file.
